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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22433953">teacher's pet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoiningJoice/pseuds/JoiningJoice'>JoiningJoice</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Creampie, Licking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teacher-Student Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 09:27:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22433953</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoiningJoice/pseuds/JoiningJoice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The voice of reason dies with his hand pushing Edward Elric's head against his desk in the teachers' room, fingers sinking into his blond hair. He sees his grin, among the strands of hair – more than anything else he feels it, the maker of his shameful excitement.</i><br/>Indecentber Challenge, Day 3 - Prompt: Student/Professor</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Edward Elric/Roy Mustang</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>teacher's pet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                The illusion of control is the most dangerous deception a man can fall victim to. There’s a voice, somewhere dormant within Roy, that fights so that he listen to it, rattles and whimpers – and it’s the illusion of control that blocks it, that prevents it from getting the better of it.</p>
<p>                The voice of reason dies with his hand pushing Edward Elric's head against his desk in the teachers' room, fingers sinking into his blond hair. He sees his grin, among the strands of hair – more than anything else he feels it, the maker of his shameful excitement.</p>
<p>                « You’re hurting me, Professor. », Edward hisses through gritted teeth, barely holding back a laugh. The last word is pronounced with an emphasis of its own, ironic and full of disdain. It's part of their game, of course, but it doesn't stop Roy from feeling the monster of shame and anger devouring him piece by piece sinking his sharp teeth into his stomach and leaving an empty black hole in its place. He shuts his eyelids and concentrates on the other senses at his disposal, on the lavender scent of Edward's hair, on the familiar soundtrack composed of the cacophony of lowered zips, loose belts and low and warm moans. In that way, he hopes to avoid guilt, but it grabs him and tightens his throat – manifesting itself in a hoarse groan when Edward turns on his back and grabs his hips, directing him towards himself.</p>
<p>                Whatever he does, it’s harsh, an attitude that doesn’t match with his delicate features. Roy caresses his face, the white skin of his cheeks; he thinks about the first time he had read his name among the winners of the scholarships made available by the university where he teaches. He remembers expecting an educated boy with a huge will to learn –  and he remembers the disappointment, the fear he had felt in being subjected to the fierce examination of Edward's gaze, sitting in the front row during the first class of the year, lips tightened in a thin line of disappointment.</p>
<p>                Edward doesn’t like him, perhaps he even hates him - he doesn’t speak to him in class, doesn’t intervene unless asked to, and only gives him hard looks and sarcasm-filled replies; but on the rare occasions when they’re alone he gives himself an instant of breath, and it’s in that single instant that Roy discovers him extraordinarily beautiful, incredibly capable and interesting.</p>
<p>                « Be quick. », he hisses. He grits his teeth in being satisfied, in welcoming Roy's length entirely inside himself, his fingers sinking into his arms and wrinkling the otherwise starched shirt. The braid in which he ties his hair has unraveled in the confusion of their movements, and blonde locks fall over his shoulders and on sheets of notes scattered on Roy's desk. With the shutters lowered as a precaution, the only source of light is the one that manages to slip between its cracks, sunset spots shining on Edward's face and bright eyes, exhausted by fatigue, reduced to an object of pleasure under the quick and dry thrusts of Roy's hips. He puts his hands on Edward's hips, barely raises them, brings them closer to himself – manipulates them as he wishes and enjoys feeling it soft and malleable under his fingers.</p>
<p>                The normal Edward doesn’t gives himself breaks. He's a completely different person than the one who whispers Roy's name in a voice broken by pleasure, and Roy himself isn't sure why he’s allowed to see that side of him – all he knows is that one day Edward waited for the other students of his seminary to leave the classroom to talk to him, and that day both of them made the fatal mistake of allowing themselves to breathe in and out deeply, while the other was present, knocking down the barrier between teacher and student, master and pupil.</p>
<p>                After that first time he had took him home, to the smal flat Edward shares with his brother; after that he had tried to apologize, had been about to tell him that they should never let something like that happen again –  but when he had turned to talk he had found himself face to face with eyes of an indistinguishible color, wide and accusing and irritated. He had only been able to open his mouth to welcome Edward's tongue against his own.</p>
<p>« Professor…! », he hears him panting, tensing, arching his back until his body presses fully against Roy's; he lets his hand slide between their bodies and caresses his erected cock, happy to torment him, to give him another reason to hide his face behind his hands and emit sobs of unarticulated pleasure. He comes like that, barely moving in Edward, completely enveloped by the incessant vibrations of his body –  and in the blindness of the moment he feels him melt, the hand he had enveloped his erection within becoming wet and sticky with his seed. Fogged by pleasure, he opens his fingers to observe the outcome of his efforts and is surprised to hear Edward's hands grasp his wrist, bring his hand to his mouth. Edward licks his pleasure from his fingers with narrowed eyes for the mixture of shame and excitement, then finally stops. He inhales and exhales deeply.</p>
<p>                Another fantasy that Roy loves to linger on is that of unhurried sex. He imagines the both of them in his bed on a Sunday morning; being able to do it calmly, to feel him becoming wax over and over again, above or under him – but calm and kindness isn’t something that belongs to their relationship. Edward pushes him away from himself, slowly, getting used to the feeling of emptiness that brings him back to Roy's attentions every time –  he’s sure that’s what it is, a simple physical necessity –  and stands on shaky legs, bending over to pick up the pants from the ground.</p>
<p>                With a movement dictated by habit, he then grasps an elastic band between his teeth and pulls his hair into a low ponytail. He does everything in silence, without uttering a word – what at first could be called embarrassment is now a habit. When he turns around, he finds Roy already dressed up, with a shirt hem left out of his pants; he ponders about going over to fix it himself, but in the end he merely points at it out with a nod of his head. « Until next time, professor. », he murmurs then, retrieving his backpack from the ground.</p>
<p>                Roy does not return the greeting. Doing so would mean admitting that there will be a next time, and that’s not a hope he wants to cling to, nor one to which he wants to condemn him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Translation of my original entry. You can find the original work (in italian) here ---&gt; https://archiveofourown.org/works/22386685<br/>I apologize for any mistake as this was, admittedly, a rushed translation :'</p></blockquote></div></div>
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